Leverage
by lokiMMXII
Summary: "This entire flat was a veritable minefield." Lestrade searches Sherlock's flat for the first time in an attempt to gain control over his consulting detective. Sequel to An Interesting Encounter.


Disclaimer - I don't own Sherlock

A/N - I found writing this a bit more difficult than writing some of my other fics. I do hope it's still up to standard. And like I said in the summary, this is a sequel so you may need to read An Interesting Encounter.

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Leverage

Lestrade stood outside the door to Sherlock's flat, key in hand. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go through with this. Yes, Sherlock was a pain in the arse and yes intercepting him here may be the only way he could think of getting whatever information and evidence Sherlock had found since running off, but it didn't change the fact he was about to perform an illegal search. Oh what the hell, Sherlock Holmes didn't care for illegalities and the only way to gain any semblance of control of his consulting detective was to start playing the game on his level.

Once he opened the door he felt along the wall, looking for some form of a light switch. As soon as the light was on Lestrade found himself simply taking in the image of Sherlock's flat in mild shock. He had seen Sherlock's flat in passing, just little glimpses but nothing that prepared him for the full picture. There where piles upon piles of books, some looked like they were dangerously close to toppling over. You could barely make out any of the furniture for the clutter covering them, not just books but there were clothes, random bits of wire and what looked computer components. Even the floor was covered in miscellaneous papers and torn pages. There was a dagger with a rather detailed handle stabbed into the Mantelpiece, splintering the wood and holding some papers in place. Upon the mantelpiece there was also a human skull staring out at him.

The kitchen wasn't much better. Every move he made around the room was accompanied with a loud crunch. It seemed Sherlock had forgone the usual carpet, wood or tile flooring argument and decided on a rather unique broken glass covering. There were the normal cups, pans and plates you would expect on the work surfaces but there were chemical containers and beakers sitting beside them. The table set up in the middle of the area held a Bunsen burner, microscope and all of the things you'd expect to see in a Chemistry classroom. Since he was already in there the kitchen seemed like a good place to start his search.

He went through all the drawers and cupboards most of which were completely empty barring random bits of cutlery, tea bags and coffee jars. (Honestly, how did this man survive?) It was in the far corner of one of benches that he found his first item of interest. At first he just thought it was a leather wallet, till he flipped it open and turned it around. It was his warrant card. One of his many warrant cards that he had _lost_ over the last year or so. Lestrade guessed the odds of his other _missing _warrant cards being in the flat somewhere were pretty good.

One last place to search in here.

He opened the fridge door... and promptly shut it again. He was not getting involved with any of _that_.

Having finished with the kitchen he moved on to the living room. It was in the midst of his third pile of books that he found his latest bit of 'leverage'. It was a file but not just any file. It was the file on the Macmillan case which had disappeared from his desk 3 months ago. So as well as stealing warrant cards he was also stealing official police files. Then there was a phone on a chair under a load of dirty laundry. It didn't look like Sherlock's phone (and Sherlock never went anywhere without his phone) so it couldn't be his. Lestrade switched it on and began to scan through the contacts, his name was there, so was Donovan's and a few others he recognised. Then it hit him. This was the phone one of his DC's had reported missing. They said they had just left their phone on their desk while they went to the toilet and when they came back it was gone. Apparently Sherlock also had a tendency to steal directly from his detectives.

Lestrade's most significant find came from the desk drawer. He'd opened it to a find metal box and in that metal box were multiple bags of a white powder that looked suspiciously like cocaine. (If it came down to it then the lab would be able to confirm.) Lestrade didn't know whether Sherlock was a user or if it was just something he acquired while working a case. It didn't matter either way, just possessing cocaine can get you a sentence of up to 7 years.

The whole time he was searching the living room the skull unnerved him. He felt as though it was glaring at him through those dark hollows; questioning him on why he was here and what gave him the right to invade the sanctity of this home. On his way over to the next bookshelf he had to pass the mantelpiece; he stopped, picked the skull up and turned it to face the wall.

As he began to leaf through yet another book he felt a sharp pain in his thumb. Swearing under his breath he threw the book to one side and placed his thumb in his mouth. From the the strong taste of copper he could assume it was bleeding quite heavily. He looked at the book he had quite violently cast aside and felt his annoyance grow. Lying next to the book was a scalpel, the blade of which was lightly stained with blood. Who the hell puts a scalpel inside a book? This entire flat was a veritable minefield.

By the time he had finished the search he had collected a substantial amount of cocaine, 6 of his warrant cards, a total of 3 police files and 2 mobile phones (which matched the description of those reported missing by people on his team). Lestrade had cleared a place on the coffee table for his little collection and he settled himself in a nearby chair. All there was left to do now was wait.

It was about half an hour before Lestrade heard the tell tale signs of someone making their way upstairs and towards the flat. He could see the shadow of the person on the other side of the door and could almost picture Sherlock hesitating at the entrance having noticed the light flooding from under it. Finally, after a few seconds, the door opened and the consulting detective slowly made his way into the living room, removing his coat and scarf as he did so and throwing them to one side.

"No signs of tampering on the lock and I definitely locked it. So how did you get in?"

Lestrade was slightly taken aback by Sherlock's lack of surprise but then again he had had a few moments to compose himself. He held up the key Mycroft had given him and watched as Sherlock stared at it intently, obviously working through all possible ways Lestrade could have procured it.

"My brother?"

Lestrade nodded and Sherlock muttered something under his breath. More than likely something rather unflattering about his brother. As he did this his eyes wandered around the room taking in his newly arranged mess and his eyes finally rested on the pile of items Lestrade had placed on the coffee table between them.

"So this is more than just a social call?"

"I want whatever you have that pertains to _my_ case."

Sherlock seemed rather surprised at this. Maybe he was expecting some kind of lecture about drug use and theft. He wasn't going to get one. Not yet anyway. Lestrade had priorities.

"I'm not 100% sure of my conclusions yet. I just need to run one test and then you'll have more than just evidence and speculation, you'll have the murderer."

"How long will this take?"

"About an hour."

"Then do it. I'll wait."

Sherlock turned, ready to get to work, playing with his little Chemistry set. It was then Sherlock noticed the skull. A smirk graced his features when he looked back over at Lestrade.

"You turned the skull around. Surely it didn't unnerve you, after all you've been in the police force for how long now?"

"Yes, because being on the police force means I should find having a human skull as decoration perfectly acceptable. Why do you have that skull anyway?"

Sherlock didn't look at him as he answered. He was picking through beakers and chemicals trying to find the right ones among the jumbled mess of his kitchen.

"He's a wonderful conversational partner. It really is quite remarkable, he is literally hollow headed and yet more helpful than you."

Originally Lestrade had no intention of bringing up what he'd witnessed earlier in the night but if Sherlock insisted on being like this then...

"He's smarter than you, isn't he?"

Sherlock turned to him, giving him a look that was mixture of fake incredulousness and mocking.

"Who? The Skull?"

"Mycroft."

Now that got a real reaction. A dark scowl had now descended upon Sherlock's features as he made an effort to continue with his work. Lestrade couldn't help but let out a short burst of laughter. The scowl was now directed towards him.

"And what is so amusing?"

"I thought sibling rivalry would be all a bit too mundane for you. After all you're Sherlock Holmes. You're above all forms of _pedestrian_ behaviour and that's exactly what you like people to think. However what I've seen tonight doesn't quite match with that image. When you normally throw out your deductions you do so confident and ready to call anyone that questions them an idiot. Which is fair enough; everyone is usually 10 steps behind you and has no clue what you're on about. Mycroft though... He isn't just on your level he's slightly above it." Sherlock had opened is mouth to interrupt but Lestrade didn't allow him. "Don't get me wrong... I say he is above you but at most he's 1 step ahead. Still, that's enough... If you were to miss anything I highly doubt me or any other person present would be able to call you on it. Your brother can though and that really gets to you. I'm guessing when you're alone it's bad enough but today I witnessed it. Amazing. Sherlock Holmes isn't infallible."

Lestrade would have felt guilty if he said anything like this to anyone else, but he was currently talking to a man who was quite happy to expose every detail of your private life just to prove how clever he was.

"Oh you enjoyed seeing that did you?"

"Yea, I did actually."

Sherlock sniffed indignantly.

"How petty."

"Coming from you?"

"There's nothing about my behaviour that is remotely petty."

"Oh, so what do you call revealing that forensic's sexual habits and orientation to an entire crime scene full of people just because he wouldn't let you take away evidence?"

"A tacticul use of information to avoid any further incursions on my work."

How can Sherlock even say these things with a straight face?

"He was doing his job. Once evidence has been collected the police can't just hand it over to some random guy. He resigned because of what you did."

"He shouldn't make such elements of his life so obvious if he doesn't wish for people to point them out."

There was not a hint of guilt or regret, nothing that showed he acknowledged that what he done was wrong in some way. Lestrade felt like a fool for expecting there would be.

"I don't know why I bother."

"Neither do I. It seems tedious. Maybe you should stop."

Out of everyone Lestrade has ever known in his life, including the criminals he has arrested and his mother, nobody has ever managed to make him feel as exasperated as Sherlock Holmes. He felt himself slide further down in the chair, his body reflecting the defeated feeling in his mind. Part of him wondered how Mycroft managed to put up with it, after all, conversations like these seemed to be the norm for the two brothers. Another part of him suspected it had been Mycroft that had unwittingly encouraged this behaviour. Mycroft had seemed completely in control during the little moment he had witnessed. Then there was the way Sherlock watched his brother while announcing his findings. It was like the two brothers were playing a game that nobody else knew the rules to. Lestrade wouldn't be surprised if they were. Mycroft must have been the only person on Sherlock's level when they were kids, and it wasn't like they could just have normal conversations, they could tell everything the other had been up to just by looking at them.

"Ahem."

Lestrade snapped out of his thoughts and noticed Sherlock looking at him, he seemed rather agitated. He must have been trying to get his attention for awhile.

"I didn't think you were the type to fall asleep with your eyes open."

"I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking."

"Oh so that was the reason for the slightly pained expression."

He was such an impossible, arrogant little...

"Is there something you want?"

"I've finished. My theory was correct. It was all rather simple rea.."

Lestrade held up a hand cutting him off. He didn't have time to listen to Sherlock as he showed off his brilliance.

"People's lives are at risk. It'll be quicker if you just come with me and tell me everything you have figured out on the way."

He swept all of his findings from earlier into a random carrier bag he found on floor and began to make his way to the door. It was only when he had the door open that he realised Sherlock wasn't following him.

"I don't travel in police cars."

"You'll ride in this one, either willingly seated in the passenger seat or," he held up the plastic bag containing everything he had acquired from his excursion, " handcuffed and sitting in the back."

It was a small victory but it was a start.


End file.
